Revenge
by HorcruxesandHallows
Summary: She had waited Twelve years. Twelve long years. Now she faced he who had turned her into this monster. And she would have her revenge. Not Slash.
1. Prologue

_She had waited Twelve years. Twelve long years. Now she faced he who had turned her into this monster. And she would have her revenge._

Revenge

Prologue 

I run through the forest, stumbling in the night, dodging the rays of moonlight slipping through the trees above me, chasing me, haunting me. It's coming. I can feel it coming, threatening to rip my body apart, warp my mind, change who I truly am. I can't stop it. I'm running but it will catch me sooner or later.

I didn't believe them. Humans get attacked all the time by wild animals, why should my attack be any different? Because the scars would never leave, they said, not even with magic. It was a sign of dark magic, of something beyond that of regular nature.

Word spread quickly and they came for me. With their wands held high they came for me, burning everything in their path. My parents had told me to run; they would catch me up. I watched the house collapse from where I hid on the hilltop, my parents still inside.

I trip into a clearing, screaming as the moonlight traps me, holds me down to the ground. I hear the bones break before I feel it, first in my hands, then my arms, and my back, and my nose. My entire body twists and contorts, leaving me screaming and writhing through the soggy leaves, ripping at my clothes and skin, the unmistakable taste of copper blood in my mouth as it morphs into a snout, my teeth pushed from their sockets as new, sharper ones replace them. A thousand needles stick into my body as I'm coated with a thick layer of grey fur; my hands turn to paws, concealing their sharp claws; my back is stretched, elongated into a thick tail.

As I crouch in that clearing, panting, struggling to figure out how this alien body works, I see the moon above me. My moan turns to a howl and it's the last thing I remember before the wolf takes over completely.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

_Twelve Years Later_

I sigh, blowing air into my clasped hands and shaking the rain out of my sopping hair. I'm wearing gloves but little help they do; they're riddled with holes. It's 12 o'clock on a saturday afternoon and Diagon Alley is empty. Before the war, people packed into this place like sardines, despite the rain. Now, the shops are mostly closed and people are too scared to leave their homes. It makes our job all the more difficult.

I suggested to Jack that we move on, find somewhere else to work, but he just refuses. He says he's tired of running, and God knows I am too. The two of us had been running around England for almost seven years before we finally found the old warehouse. We've lived there for three years now, two of them spent alone - just the werewolf and the squib; the last one we shared with a gang of schoolchildren, sixteen to be exact, each of them with their own reason to hide from the snatchers. It'll get better, he says. People will come eventually; there will be pockets to pick again. I think he thinks that if he keeps saying it, it'll come true. It certainly hasn't yet.

I can see Jack hanging around outside the Weasley joke shop with one of the truants (I can't remember his name). A Crack! catches me off guard. I've just enough time to sink back into the alleyway before two men pass. I smile. Finally. Stuffing my hands into my armpits, I follow, bracing my shoulders against the cold rain. I look to Jack for support but he and the boy have disappeared. I don't think anything of it. I can already see one of the men pulling a small bag of coins from inside of his jacket, and it takes all my self-control not to just jump him. I quicken my step behind them, but something catches my eye: a red band wrapped around each of their left arms. Snatchers. Now I know why Jack left.

I stay still. Not because I'm an idiot, nor because I have a death wish, but because the first man, the one holding the bag of coins, begins to speak. "When d'you think Greyback'll get 'ere?" he says.

Greyback. His name was Greyback.

Maybe it's the cold, or the hunger, or the hatred, but the name sparks something inside of me that pushes me forward, wand grasped tightly in my hand. I don't know what I plan to do. I want to kill them both - torture them until they tell me what I need to know and then dispose of them - but a hand grips my arm and yanks me sideways into an abandoned shop.

Jack pushes the door shut behind us and pins my struggling form against the wall.

"What are you doing?" I hiss. "Get off of me!"

He holds his hand over my mouth. "Jen, stop it. I mean it, stop! Are you out of your mind? They will _kill_ you. Is that what you want?" I stop struggling and meet his gaze. Behind his anger and frustration, there's a hint of something else. Worry, I think, maybe hurt. "Don't answer that. Don't you _dare_ answer that. You don't even know if that's the right Greyback they're talking about."

I push his hand away from my mouth and slide out from beneath him, my body shaking from the adrenaline pumping through my veins. "Do that again," I warn him, "and I'll make sure you can't walk for a week. This is my chance, Jack, I'm _not_ letting him get away."

"And what are you gunna do?" he asks, raising his eyebrows. "Huh? You gunna go after them, slaughter them all? They're snatchers, Jen, you wouldn't last five minutes!"

I shake my head. I'm not sure of the answer either. "I'm not going to kill them," I say firmly. Not yet anyway. "I'm going to join them." Even as I say it it sounds completely ridiculous.

He frowns, his lips twitching up at the corners. "Join them? _Join_ them? Jen, what is _wrong_ with you? You know what they do to people like us! We live in a crappy warehouse filled with rats with sixteen kids under the age of fifteen because of them! How can you even be considering this?"

"I can't expect you to understand," I whisper. "But I don't want to leave on bad terms."

"Please, Jen, just think about this."

"I won't change my mind."

He shakes his head, gritting his teeth. "Then get out of here." He fixes his eyes on the floor, his jaw clenched.

"Jack-"

"Just get out of here, kid!"

I look away, ashamed to feel tears pricking at my eyes. "I'm not a kid anymore," I say quietly as I open the door.

I don't know if he hears me, but he pulls my back anyway, crushing me against his chest. He breathes out heavily, pushing me back and squeezing my shoulders. "Give them everything you got, kid," he says firmly.

I nod. If I say anything, I'm scared that I might start crying. The rain splashes beneath my feet, the icy wind biting at my exposed face. If I do survive this, I think, I'm moving abroad. Somewhere warm, where it isn't freezing cold in April.

I find the snatchers in the tavern, taking a quick sip from my flask before entering. I take a deep breath, then another. I stand straight, expressionless. They don't see me approach so I clear my throat. "How much to join?" I ask casually.

The snatcher with the red streak looks up lazily, taking me in with an amused smirk. "We ain't lookin' for no company tonight, love."

"What? No, I- That's not what I meant," I stutter. Game face, Jen. "I want to be a snatcher."

He looks to his companion who snorts into his Firewhiskey, finding my request highly amusing.

"A snatcher?" guy with the red streak asks.

"Yes," I reply.

"What are you? Five foot?"

"Five foot five actually-"

"Bout 'undred pounds-"

"A hundred and thirty-"

"Can you fight?"

"Yes."

"You ever 'it someone?"

"Yes."

"You ever broken a bone?"

"Several."

"Bet you cried all night."

"You have no idea."

Red Streak shrugs. "Your funeral. Why not?"

I can't help but smile.

_**For SportzDawg. Please leave a review :)**_


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

They say there is one thing that never changes, not even in wolf form, and that's the eyes. It's not entirely true – during the full moon, your sight is a thousand times sharper than normal – but they look exactly the same. I know from the moment I see his eyes that it's him. Just one look confirms it. Those eyes I could never forget, so cold and unfeeling and cruel. He is the one who did this to me; he is the one who will pay.

I thought I would find a man, or at least someone pretending to be a man. But no. I had heard so many stories of Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who never changed back, but I always thought they were just that – stories. I always knew that he was not a man, not entirely human, but his teeth are distinctly canine, his claws are long and yellow, and hair covers the majority of his body. There is nothing human about him save for the way he stands on two legs.

He looks me up and down, not even the slightest hint of recognition as he asks for my name.

"Bright," I say, fighting a wave of convulsion at his appearance.

"Well, Bright," he begins, and when he steps towards me I'm sure he can see my body stiffen, for he places both hands on my shoulders and turns me around to the camp, disregarding all ideas of personal space, "there's tents needing putting up."

I look at the four piles dotted around the empty site, wondering just how many snatchers they have here. The camp is empty except for me, Greyback and the two snatchers from Diagon Alley, Scabior (the one with the red streak in his hair) and Murray. I pull out my wand but Greyback puts his hand on my arm. I glare down at his hand, giving myself a mental pat on the back for not hexing him right then and there.

"You won't be needing that," he says, nodding towards a wooden mallet on the ground. "All part of the training."

He has the smallest of smirks on his face. I wonder if he thinks he's giving me some kind of challenge. I shove my wand into the waistband of my trousers and pick up the mallet, unperturbed. I spent six years of my life living in various different tents, the first three of those whilst I still had the Trace. Putting up a tent the Muggle way is a piece of cake.

I can feel him watching me as I bang the pegs into the ground and struggle to straighten the poles. After twelve years of contemplating revenge, of imagining the look on his face as I rip the heart out of him, I can't think anymore. Here I am, faced with this monster I have always loathed, and nothing comes to me. Killing him would be too kind, but something like that doesn't have loved ones. If he has nothing to cherish, how can I possibly make him feel my pain?

I growl in frustration as I'm engulfed by the tent once more. I hear Greyback laugh and fight my way out of it just in time to see him loping off into the surrounding trees. Putting up Muggle tents the Muggle way is easy. Putting up heavy, magically enlarged tents the Muggle way? Not so much.

"Oi, Scabior," I hear Murray say. "When d'you reckon Greyback's coming back?"

"I'll cover for you," says Scabior, and Murray doesn't hesitate, not even to utter a thank you. He Disapparates a second later, leaving just the two of us alone in the clearing.

He lifts the tent for me and I nod a thank you, managing to finally fix the poles. "'E's probably run out of whiskey," says Scabior. "Can't go five minutes without it."

"Guess the war affects us all in different ways," I say without looking up, picking up my mallet and moving onto the next tent.

"You may as well use magic on the rest of 'em," he says, pulling out his wand and erecting one of the tents himself.

"Thought it was part of the training?"

"Nah," says Scabior. "'E just don't like you."

"Great." I erect the final tent and perch on a log, brushing my hands off on my trouser leg and looking at the tents around us. One of them must be Greyback's, but even if I find it I can't go in without a valid excuse – he would smell I was there.

"Don't take it personal or anythin'," he continues. "'E 'ates everyone. 'Specially since you're a girl."

I look up at him, twirling his wand in his hands. "I thought girls were his favourites?"

"Only if 'e can eat 'em."

Except he doesn't eat them, does he? He positions himself near people at the full moon so that he can infect as many as possible, the younger the better.

x

I lay back in the bed, wide awake even though it must be two o'clock in the morning already. The room is too quiet, too empty. I'm staying in Scabior's tent. He moved his stuff out that morning so I, the only girl here, could have one to myself. Greyback has his own tent, directly opposite mine. Scabior, Murray and Greaves share one tent whilst Levicky, White and Michaels share the other. It's the first time in a long time that I've slept in a room on my own. I wonder if this is a form of homesickness? I've never had that before.

Eventually I fall asleep. No sooner have I left the tent the following morning, an entire basket of clothes is thrust into my arms. I stumble backwards, trying to regain my balance, and peer over the basket, into the face of Greyback.

"What is this?" I demand.

"The lake's that way," he says, pointing to his left.

"So?"

"So _wash_ them," he says, emphasising each word like I'm an idiot.

I grit my teeth, biting back any insult that was forming in my mouth, and stalk away towards the lake. I haven't had any breakfast yet, which only serves to worsen my mood as I dump the basket beside the lake and start dragging out the clothes, along with a green lump of what I can only assume is soap. He thinks I'm a useless girl. Fine, let him think that. As long as I know different that's all that matters.

I scrub the clothes until my hands are red raw. I hear someone approach from behind but don't turn around, up to my elbows in disgusting suds. Water splashes behind me as I throw a pair of pants back out of the lake.

"'Ere, watch it," I hear Scabior say. I turn around to look at him, squinting my eyes through the sunlight. He looks up from the wet patches on his pants and holds up a sandwich, giving me a small smile. "Breakfast," he says, and I narrow my eyes. Either he wants something or it's poisoned – the only two possibilities. I flick my hands off and wipe them on my jacket.

"You get used to the burning after a while," he says. "Greaves makes the soap from nettles. Greyback don't complain 'cause it's free, but it don't 'alf make your clothes itch."

I bite into the bacon sandwich. It doesn't taste funny, only cold. "Thanks," I say through my mouthful. He shrugs and leaves.

I chew through my sandwich quickly and wait until I'm sure I haven't been poisoned before I return to the clothes. I try to think clearly. I need a plan of action but I can't come up with anything. I want to hurt Greyback, and I want him to be sorry, but I don't even think that's possible anymore. I have to find something he cares about, no matter how small. There has to be something. Anything.

_**For SportzDawg and Nelle07. Thank you for the reviews.**_

_**And for She-Earl. Happy Birthday for last week x**_


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

I am as silent as a mouse as I creep through the trees, if not quieter. I can see Scabior to my right, Murray to my left, and I know the other five snatchers are close by. If they had told me a week ago that I would be doing this, I never would have believed them. Yet here I am, stalking through the woods with a pack of snatchers, hunting down a small group of suspected truants or Mudbloods.

There are four of them, two boys and two girls, and they all look Hogwarts age. They lit a fire. That was their downfall. They had no protective charms surrounding them and were easily seen and heard through the surrounding trees. As we circled them I heard one laugh. I ignored the guilt that was already swelling up inside of me. I would not, could not, let my emotions get in the way. This was the first time they had let me come with them, the first time I had not been left at camp to wash or cook, the first chance I had to prove myself, and I was not going to let it pass me by.

I can smell them already. One day still until the full moon and already I can feel its effects. Better sight, better hearing, better smell. It's not only my senses that are affected, but for as long as I can remember I've spend the days around the Full Moon well away from any form of human contact. Here, constantly surrounded by people, there's no chance of escape. I still don't know what I'm going to do tomorrow night.

An explosion to my right snaps me back to the present, to the sight of a falling tree about to land directly on top of Scabior, who stands there staring at it as if he might will it to stop, no matter how much I shout at him to get out of the way. Maybe it's not his fault. Maybe he can't hear me over the noises now filing the woods around us, but there can no mistaking the bloody big tree about to squash him flat. I knock Murray out of the way, ignoring Greyback's growls for help not so far away. I hear the breath knocked out of him as I barrel Scabior to the ground. It's the last thing I really hear before we both hit the floor, tangled together as we're thrown downhill, neither one of us able to stop ourselves nor cushion the fall.

It feels like I'm falling forever. One thump after another until finally it stops. Everything stops.

x

I bolt upright. Nothing is broken, just a little sore. I've definitely felt worse. Another shudder runs through my back, similar to the one that had just woke me up. It's not yet dark out but I've slept for too long. The Moon is coming.

It's as I'm dragging on my clothes that Scabior appears. I don't have to turn around: I can smell that it's him. I force myself not to turn, to carry on getting dressed. I have to leave quickly, no matter how much I don't want to. Because I really don't want to. I blame the Moon, this is how it always is. It's the Full Moon, and I, to put it crudely, am on heat. I don't know how long I have before the Moon appears, but the way I'm feeling, I'd rather stay here and be discovered than leave if it means I can fuck Scabior's brains out.

I disgust myself.

"You alright?" he asks.

I nod. Right boot, right laces. Left boot, left laces. Pay attention, Jen. But, oh, God, he's coming closer...

"I 'ere you saved my life?" he says it as though he can't quite believe it.

I'm having trouble even hearing what he's saying. I just nod again. He's talking again. I should be listening, but I've allowed myself to turn around and all I do is watch his mouth, and it is such a good mouth. He hasn't had a shave in a few days. I'm imagining how his mouth woud feel against mine. Soft, warm, maybe a little itchy from the stubble.

"Are you okay?"

I blink. What?

"Yes," I say quickly. "Yes." Someone stop me saying yes.

He smiles wryly. I bite the inside of my lip. I can't do this. He has to leave, but he's coming closer. Or maybe that's just me moving towards him. He stops talking abruptly, as if he's just noticed my new-found proximity, his mouth still slightly open. He doesn't move, which is lucky for me since I'm not in the mood for any delays. I twist my fingers into the front of his shirt and pull him even closer, leaning up to crush my mouth against his. His shock is short-lived. His hand moves to the back of my neck, the other to the small of my back, kissing me as furiously as I him, our tongues sliding against one another.

I can feel my skin burning, my breath hitching. I want him right now more than I've ever wanted anything. I can't remember why it's wrong or why I shouldn't be doing this or where else I'm supposed to be. Especially not now, with his hands, cool against my skin, sliding up the front of my shirt. I growl against his lips, but that growl is followed by pain. I fight to stay upright as cramps hit my stomach and a wave of nausea passes over me.

I have to use some force against Scabior to get him to let go of me. I back away, shaking my head, grabbing my jacket.

"Sorry," is all I can manage to whisper before I start to run.

_**For SportzDawg and She-Earl x**_


	5. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Not a single personal item. Nothing to suggest that anyone truly lived here. It's more like a hotel room than the home that it is. There are no photographs, no books, not a single piece of jewellery in Fenrir Greyback's tent.

I shake my head and take a drink from my hip flask before getting down on my hands and knees and poking my head under his bed. I had been an idiot to expect to find anything, which, as far as I was aware, leaves only one solution. I want Greyback to feel the pain I felt when my parents died but that is clearly impossible. Still, there has to be some satisfaction in having his blood on my hands, and I know there is only one way to find out.

I close my eyes and hold my breath as my hand reluctantly rummages through whatever is hidden in the darkness beneath Greyback's bed. I'm trying so hard not to think about what my hand is passing over.

"What are you doing?"

I jump, my head thumping on the bed, almost knocking me senseless, at the sound of a voice behind me. I crawl out, delicately holding the back of my head as I stand to face Greyback. I'm waiting for the dizziness to pass and I can only imagine the scowl on his face with my eyes now crossed.

"I asked you a question," he says, surprisingly calmly given that I'm here, in his tent, with no apparent reason.

"Parcel," I say quickly, and my hand points in what I think is the general direction of where I dumped said parcel, but I have lost all sense of coordination.

"What parcel?" I can smell him coming closer, around the bed to the opposite side where I stand.

"Levicky gave it to me." Now I can see him coming closer. My eyes, still a little blurred, cannot mistake the sudden loss of light as his presence casts me into shadow.

"You were on the floor." His voice is still so calm, such an unusual occurrence for him. I have never heard it so calm and I get the feeling that, one way or another, I will never hear it so calm again.

"I lost an earring."

"You're not wearing any earrings."

By now my head has cleared and I can finally see straight. "That's because I lost it," I say simply, taking a step back from him.

"You only wear one earring?"

"Yep, just the one. Lost the other."

I laugh nervously as I try to edge my way around him and towards the door, but his hand on my arm holds me in place. I grit my teeth, staring down at the hand, resisting the urge to slap it away.

"Want to know what I think?" he asks, not particularly waiting for an answer. "I think you're up to something."

Bloody hell. Genius, this one.

"Really," I begin, "I was just-"

"Enough!" His voice finally raises to its usual growl. His grip on my arm tightens and he pulls me against him, taking a hold of my other arm which is trying to push him back. His face is beside mine, his smell invading my nostrils, his dirty hair against my skin.

"Why aren't you afraid of me?" he asks, so softly, and as he asks his wet lips brush against my neck and I can feel the sharp pricks of his teeth on my skin, and I want to be sick and I want to scream and I want to kick him off me and never stop kicking, but instead I hold still. I suck in my cheeks. I don't breathe. I cannot fight him, not now; not with the Full moon only a few days before. I am not nearly strong enough.

"See, now, I can hear your heartbeat. Going faster and faster." He takes my hand and presses it onto my chest, over my heart. "But you're not scared, are you? You ain't stupid though. You know that I could turn at any minute and kill you, but you're not scared. You're getting ready to fight me. You're pumped on adrenaline, not fear. Why is that? Why do you think you can fight me?"

He's right. Of course he is. As his grip on my arm tightens, and I realise he has no intention of letting go, I'm already preparing to embed my knee into his groin, my hands clenched into fists ready to hit him. I know I can't win, but I certainly won't go down without a fight.

"Everything alright in 'ere?"

The both of us turn to the opening of Greyback's tent, in which Scabior stands, staring straight at me. He moves towards us, holding a small bag out to Greyback. His eyes never move from my own, as Greyback's hand never moves from my arm.

"Been to the Ministry," says Scabior calmly. He tosses the bag in our direction and Greyback lets go of my arm to catch it. He makes no effort to keep hold of me as I pull my arm out of his hold.

I feel Scabior take a hold of my jacket from behind, gently pulling me backwards. "Yours is in my tent, if you want to get it now," he says quietly. I nod and turn, with him near-shoving me out of the tent and into his own.

"You alright, Jen?"

He's kneeling in front of me. I don't remember sitting down but clearly I am. I nod my head. Of course I'm alright, but my face is burning and my hands are shaking, my body filled with an adrenaline I have no purpose for.

"I would have been fine," I snap. It's a lie, and he doesn't deserve this, but I can't help myself. I haven't spoken to him since the night of the Full moon, two days ago, and just looking at him is causing a twinge of guilt to pass through my stomach. I hate that.

He shakes his head at me. "Of course you would 'ave been," he says sarcastically. "Course you can look after yourself against a fully-grown fucking werewolf. An' 'oo am I to say otherwise?"

He chuckles softly and squeezes my hands between his as he looks at me, and I look at him, and neither of us say a word for a long time. I don't know what to say but sorry, yet I'm afraid that if I open my mouth something else will come out, because my chest hurts and my skin is burning and my palms are sweating and my stomach is turning over and over, and this is so not good. This cannot be happening. I can't be feeling this way about him, because when this is all over, and I plan on it being over very soon, I will leave him behind.

That's what my brain is telling me. My body? My body is screaming something completely different.

"What were you doing in there?" he asks, still crouching in front of me.

"I had a package for him. Wasn't aware that was a problem."

"'E seemed to think it was."

"Are you accusing me of something?" I pull my hands away from him and stand, almost knocking him back in the process. "Because if you want to know what Greyback's problem is, you should ask Greyback. Not me."

He's right there in front of me, ridiculously close, and I can so vividly remember the last time he stood so close, and I'm having a hard time trying to focus and remember why I don't want a repeat of that last time.

"Are we going to talk about what happened?" he asks me.

I shake my head. I'm ashamed of myself because I think he smells nice and I think his voice is gorgeous and the fact that he's touching my arm is too much for me to handle. But he wouldn't do this if he knew what I was. He would never even look at me if he knew that I was a Half-Breed. He only puts up with Greyback because he has to.

"It was a mistake," I say firmly, pushing his hand away. "It won't happen again."

He tuts. "That's a shame," he says, "I were quite looking forward to round two."

"Tough," I tell him, but the twitch of my lips gives me away. "I'm not sticking around here, you know."

"Me neither."

His arm snakes around my waist and pulls me against him, and I do nothing to protest. One mistake, I figure, will hardly do much harm. And, if all goes to plan, I'll be gone before he finds out what I am.

His hands move to the small of my back as his mouth covers my own, quickly moving round to work on unzipping the front of my jacket and push it back from my shoulders. With my arms around his neck, he lifts my legs to his waist and turns to deposit me on the bed, following close behind. His warm hands move their way along my arms and his mouth buries itself into my neck, groaning as my hands slip into his shirt and my nails sink into his skin.

I whisper his name breathlessly. Desperately. He never moves his mouth from his neck as he waves his wand at the opening of the tent and silently casts the Imperturbable Charm.

_**For littledhampir13, sock-feet-and-stirring-sand, and Nelle07.**_


	6. Chapter 5

**Chapter Six**

I can hear screaming coming from the tent right in front of me. I can see the shadows, hear the fighting, almost smell the blood.

"There's nothing we can do," Scabior says with his hand on my arm, holding me still. "She went in there willingly."

I wrench my arm from his grip and turn away from it all, shaking my head as I begin to walk away. "She wouldn't had she known what was in store for her!"

Truthfully I had no idea what he was doing to her. Truthfully I did not want to know. She had agreed to sex. Greyback clearly had other ideas. His growls echo around the campsite. The noises she makes alternate between moans, cries, screams and whimpers. Perhaps she is in pain. Perhaps I am overreacting. Perhaps she is too drunk to feel a thing. Perhaps there is nothing I can do. Perhaps there is something. Whatever the case, I don't stop walking.

My hand shakes as it lifts the flask to my lips. It is almost empty now - I have been here too long, been drinking too much, and the potion never seems to last long anymore. April has ended and May has begun, but still I am here. And I have never been so ashamed of myself. For my own piece of Hell had become something of a home for me. After only a few short weeks I had settled here as well as I had settled anywhere.

Scabior did not help things. Even now, as I sat with my back against a fallen tree, deep within the forest, he was here with me, and I was grateful for that. Grateful for his warmth, his familiar smell, his comforting arm around me. Grateful. That I should feel at home with he who had cursed me. Fenrir Greyback, the cause of my living nightmare, the murderer of my parents. And now I lived with him, alongside him, and I was _grateful_.

Scabior holds me against him. Even here we can hear it. The sounds of her screaming. The sounds of him tearing her apart. Until suddenly it stops. And the silence is all the more horrifying.

"She wasn't no-one," Scabior says softly. "Some prostitute."

I don't reply. I am frozen against him. His words don't register in my brain. I push back off of him and stand, turning my back. My palms are sweating, my face is burning, and my hands are shaking something terrible now as I tip the flask into my mouth, but there's nothing but weak, thin dribbles. Nothing but the last of the potion.

"She weren't nobody," Scabior repeats behind me. He puts a hand on my arm and I step away. He thinks I'm upset. He thinks I am crying.

I am not upset. I cannot speak. I am afraid. Afraid because I can smell her blood. We must have walked for at least a minute, must be far from the campsite, too far for any human to possibly smell it, but I can. I can smell it. Which means, sooner or later, Greyback will smell me.

"Jen, what you doin'?" He spins me around with his hand on my shoulder. I had been staring at the flask, absorbed by my thoughts, and now it flies from my hands and onto the forest floor.

We both look at it. He had seen it before but now he makes the connection. Now he realises that this is the cause of my anxiety.

I drop to the floor first, but it lies nearer to his feet and he grabs it before I do. I leap at him, shout at him to give it back, desperately claw at his hands to take it from his grip, but he simply pushes me back. I land on my bottom, on the cold forest floor. He stares at the flask. He thinks I'm like Murray, an alcoholic. I want him to think that. I need him to think that.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, and I hope that's enough. To stop him questioning further. To stop him doing what he does in the next second, which is to unscrew the lid, hold it beneath his nose, and inhale.

I shut my eyes. Tears wet my lashes. I refuse to look at him. Because I know. I know he knows. I know he can smell it.

"Jenny?" His voice is so soft, yet it cuts through me like a knife. He waits for me to say something, anything, but there's not a sound can be heard through the silence of the forest. "Jen, why you drinkin' Wolfsbane?"

I shake my head. "Scabior, I'm sorry," I whisper again. I'm pathetic. My voice is breaking and there are tears in my eyes and still I haven't looked at him.

"What else is in it?" he asks shortly, quietly. I don't answer. He takes a step closer. "Well?" When I don't answer again, he lifts me up by the arm and shakes me hard. "What is it?" he yells.

"Argentea!" I cry. "For the stench! It weakens everything. The strength, the speed, the smell. So he wouldn't smell me! He couldn't know what I was."

I can only see the silhouette of Scabior's face through the darkness, but it's enough to see it twisted by disgust and anger and betrayal.

"What are you?" he asks. It hurts more than anything that he thinks everything I am is a lie. That this makes me less human. That he touched a filthy Half-Breed.

"I'm a werewolf," I say simply.

I wipe my nose with the back of my sleeve and stare at him defiantly, though no doubt he cannot see it through the darkness. The flask falls from his hands, landing on the floor with a dull thud before he turns and walks away.

I had expected more. So much more. Yelling, screaming, throwing things around. I had expected him to accuse me of being a liar. To call me names. I had not, however, expected him to just walk away. To give up so easily.

I stumble back against the tree. His reaction confuses me, as does my own. I don't know why he affects me so much. It's been a matter of weeks and it's hardly been a relationship. Just sex. So why did it hurt like this? Why did I care that he was disgusted? So many have been before. Why did it matter that he thought I was a liar or that I had betrayed him? Why should I care that he was hurt?

I hear a commotion coming from the camp-site. Shouting and running and panicking about something. There's a pair of feet running towards me, and I stand upright, wand at the ready until I notice Murray appear through the trees.

He staggers towards me, the foul stench of stale alcohol overwhelming. "Scabior said you was 'ere," he says in his usual slur. "We're having a bit of a fight up at Hogwarts. Somethin' 'bout 'Arry Potter being there. Fancy comin' along?"

But before I have time to register this news, before I've even time to open my mouth, he has hold of me and we're both Disapparating.


End file.
